Antics
by Anaticula4
Summary: A story in which Sherlock Holmes' antics bring him closer to Watson.


Warnings: This is slash and it is explicit! So please do not read if you're offended by male on male love (although it is a beautiful thing…especially in Victorian England).

Watson hated to admit it, but he had missed the early morning violin practices and strange explosions echoing from the room of his counterpart. He found the silence in their shared lodgings to be eerily unnatural as he readied himself to find a house to accommodate Mary. Come to think of it, Watson had not seen Holmes for at least a week and their housekeeper had mentioned that the detective had not been eating. The final straw, however, was the bottle of laudanum that had mysteriously disappeared from Watson's medical supplies in the middle of the night.

"Holmes!" Watson yelled as he barged into the room, only to find Holmes awash in a drug-induced stupor mumbling something about auditory devices and their functions during a full moon. Watson could only sigh as this situation had become increasingly common. He walked into the room and bent down to help Holmes up, reeling a bit from the detective's body odor. Watson drew a bath and carefully undressed Holmes, blushing a bit at his lack of modesty (although the doctor did quickly appraise the naked body in front of him). After settling Holmes down into the warm water, Watson sat down next to the tub and proceeded to try and talk some sense into the detective.

"Must you self-destruct Holmes, and at this very moment?" Watson questioned.

The detective's eyes closed as a slight smile played upon his lips. "I've never been one for timing," Sherlock replied.

"Do you not stop to think for one second that I cannot possibly take care of you all the time? Who will clean up your messes when I'm gone?" Watson said.

After cracking an eye open to glance at him, Holmes replied, "There's no reason you have to go."

"Holmes you know very well that I intend to get married and start a family." Watson said.

"Since that has been decided, can you please be quiet? The wallpaper is talking to me in a most peculiar fashion and I intend to listen to it." He retorted.

Watson closed his eyes, when only a minute later he heard water splashing. He opened his eyes quickly to ensure that Holmes was not drowning. He instead found the detective stroking the proud erection that had blossomed under the surface of the water. Watson could only watch in astonishment as Holmes' mouth parted and he let out a breathy moan, as if completely unaware of his friend's presence.

Watson was torn between continuing to observe the enthralling sight before him or stopping his friend for the sake of propriety. He, in the end, chose the high road (as it seemed he always needed to do in Sherlock's presence).

Blushing mightily, he mumbled "Holmes, please. Control yourself."

"It doesn't seem to be troubling you that much. Besides, I have much control over the present situation." Holmes said as he turned his lust-ridden eyes towards Watson. His lips slightly parted.

"That's it. You are clean enough." Watson said as he raised Holmes from the tub, ensuring that the detective's manhood was nowhere near him. He grabbed a nearby towel, while steadying his friend with the other hand. Holmes had certainly drunk quite a bit of laudanum, as he still could not stand straight. Watson blushed as he toweled off Holmes' body, ignoring the detective's erection and the smug smirk that he wore. Watson made sure to wrap Holmes in a towel and slung his friend's arm around his own.

"Watson, whatever shall I do when you are gone? Mrs. Hudson will hardly put up with my, what did you call them? Antics." Holmes chuckled to himself as Watson walked him to his room. Once they were in the detective's room, Watson dressed Holmes in a pair of pants and laid him down on his bed. He then walked across the room to the brandy tumbler.

"Pour me a drink, Watson." Holmes ordered from his place on the bed.

"You will have water, and nothing else," Watson replied. There was silence, and then Watson could hear breathing as a lean body pressed itself to the back of him.

He stood shock-still as Holmes played with the buttons of his shirt and licked the side of his neck in a most distracting fashion.

"I want brandy," Watson could feel the growl deep in Holmes' chest, but he knew he could not give into his friend's every whim.

"You shall have water," Watson replied, trying to ignore the hands that had slowly begun to creep down towards his trousers. He turned towards the detective to scold him for his behavior, but Holmes set upon him like a madman.

And there it was. Frantic, frenzied kisses were pressed to his lips before he could utter a word of protest. Holmes' tongue forced its way into his mouth, and Watson responded in a primal, instinctual way. Holmes had intertwined his fingers in his hair and used them as leverage to push their faces further together.

This was not the dance of old lovers. There was no grace or ease. It was all bumped lips, hard thrusts, and hurried gropings. This was the dance of pure need born of animosity and a male sense of pride. It was a drug-induced romp (at least on one side) that sought quick release, not slow completion.

Holmes' hands were everywhere in a way that Watson could not yet fully comprehend. Calloused fingers wrapped themselves around his neck and squeezed lightly, invoking a gasp swallowed by the detective's bruising lips. Watson buried his fingers in Holmes' unruly hair and pulled, reveling in the hiss that issued forth.

Holmes began to walk backwards, leading Watson towards the bed that lay on the other side of the room. His hands strayed down to tug at the doctor's belt, fumbling to gain dominance over the situation. Watson lost all thought when Holmes palmed him through the fabric of his trousers, and soon he was being shoved down.

Watson tried to voice his objections, but he found himself speechless as Holmes straddled him and growled. The detective bit his neck, and deftly undid the buttons of his shirt, lightly scraping rough nails across his nipples. Watson arched his back, lost in a bliss of sensations so heady that he questioned if it were all a dream.

And then it all took on a dreamlike quality when Holmes sucked Watson's weeping member into his mouth. Watson fisted his hands in Holmes' hair, urging him to take him deeper, arching his hips to gain more of that delicious suction. He was panting, and Holmes fingers were bruising into his hipbones, leaving traces of their illicit affair for him to discover tomorrow.

"Holmes," Watson cried out as the idea of consequence entered his mind. He used his grip on the detective's hair to hall him up to face level. "We can't do this. There is too much at stake."

"There stands more to gain than to lose," Holmes replied simply, before grinding his hips against Watson. The friction was exquisite, and Holmes set about getting himself out of his pants.

"I would be taking advantage of you," Watson moaned, once again trailing off as Holmes rocked against him. "It wouldn't be right," and then another thrust. "You are not in the right state of mind," Holmes bent down to silence him while grasping their erections in his fist.

Then there was silence punctuated by ragged breathing and rustling sheets. Watson could only pant as Holmes sped up the pace, thrusting against him with a wild abandon before stopping entirely.

The primal look evident in the detective's eye told Watson what the next step would be if he were daring enough to take it. The quirk in Watson's mustache cued Holmes into his decision, and he pounced fiercely, smashing their lips together in a struggle for dominance. His finger strayed down to Watson's entrance and attempted to push past the ring of muscles.

"Holmes," Watson choked, "You need…something." Holmes nodded, eyes blurry with lust, and reached into his bedside drawer withdrawing a hand salve that Watson had given him years ago. The detective fumbled with the lid, before dipping his finger into the salve.

Holmes' fingers pushed their way into Watson, one by one until he was playing him as skillfully as he played his violin. The doctor found himself reduced to a series of one-syllable words, each intended for begging. He writhed and twisted, seeking more then he could find. Watson lost himself in a sea of pleasure, and was surprised to find that Holmes had shifted their positions so that he was straddling the detective.

Watson slowly sunk down upon Holmes' erection, gasping at the overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure that wracked his body. Once Holmes was fully inside him, Watson began to adjust to the sensations. He rocked his hips and was rewarded by a gasp from his partner. He slowly began to ride the detective, moaning when Holmes hit that spot that made sparks burst beneath his eyes.

Watson could feel Holmes begin to arch up to meet his actions, each stroke pushing him more towards the edge. Holmes kept his eyes open, watching the doctor impale himself. Watson began to move in earnest, slamming himself down on his partner and reaching a hand down to stroke himself.

A barrage of sensations assaulted him as he looked down into Holmes' eyes. The detective was staring intently at him while driving into the doctor with an increasingly fast pace. Watson could feel Holmes fingers digging into his hips, and he crashed their lips together. He sped up the movement of his hand and soon Watson found himself hovering on the edge of oblivion. The minute he looked into Holmes' brown eyes he toppled over, spilling himself in his hand and calling Holmes' name. The detective followed soon after, arching up and growling low in his chest.

A sweat-soaked stillness lay in the air, and Watson felt himself grow heavy with sleep. He contemplated curling up with Holmes but found the overwhelming gravity of the situation much too alarming. Reluctantly Watson raised himself from the bed and turned to leave the room when a certain bottle caught his eye. He could see it was his missing store, and upon further investigation he found the wax seal still intact.

Shocked, Watson turned to find Holmes (looking surprisingly sober) smirking at him from the bed.

"What is this?" Watson sputtered, hoping the question would prompt a different answer. Holmes' only response was to stretch like a cat and give an exasperated sigh.

He repeated his question, as the truth began to make itself known.

"It appears to be one of your medical stores. Weren't you searching for something earlier today?" Holmes replied, the smile evident in his voice.

"Don't play coy," Watson retorted. "What is this doing in your possession, and why is it unopened?"

"Why Watson, you should be relieved that I resisted temptation. That bottle ended up here by a mistake, with which I had no association. I did not drink it, because you had expressed disgust in me being chemically indisposed. I was simply trying to oblige you," Holmes smiled, knowing that he had succeeded in providing an infallible answer.

"Why were you acting so oddly before? The bathtub…" Watson trailed off.

"I was conducting something of an experiment." He replied.

Watson stood shocked before responding. "An experiment?"

"I planned to observe how you would react if you perceived my lowered inhibitions. Call it my antics" The detective said.

"Lowered inhibitions! You wanted to see if I would take advantage of you?" Watson found himself shouting as he made his way over to his partner. He grabbed Holmes and pulled him to his feet.

"You wanted to make me feel guilty! You wanted to make me stay here under a misplaced sense of guilt! You are insufferable!" Watson shook Holmes and stepped back. The detective smiled infuriatingly at him, and Watson felt his tender grasp on rage slipping away.

He was hitting Holmes before he released what was happening. The contact of fist against skin was unsettlingly pleasurable, and his anger was instantly begun to fade. Realization of what he had just done washed over him.

"Holmes," Watson sighed, pulling his friend closer to him. He crushed their lips together, tasting tea and the tobacco that Holmes was so found of.

"What am I to do with you?'

I would like my lovely beta januaryfreeze92 who helped me with my comma addiction.

This fic has taken quite a long time for me to finish, so feedback would be greatly appreciated (especially if more fics are desired).


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